


a little, maybe

by noero



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Bottom Lance (Voltron), First Time, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Mutual Pining, mutual idiots, post college AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-27
Updated: 2020-07-27
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:06:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25557052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/noero/pseuds/noero
Summary: Keith sleeps with his friends.
Relationships: Keith/Lance (Voltron)
Comments: 33
Kudos: 419





	a little, maybe

Keith sleeps with his friends.

Hunk’s the one who told Lance. The group was huddled in the back corner of their favorite burger joint, swapping gossip over an order of cheese fries. Hunk — lovable but oh-so-nosy Hunk — was going on about how Keith was hooking up with Ryan. Then Allura piped in about how before Ryan it’d been Romelle and before Romelle it’d been Acxa and before Acxa it’d been James. 

Lance listened to them sorta slack-jawed because as long as he’d known Keith, he’d never known him to take an interest in anyone. Keith didn’t date. And to be clear, that wasn’t for lack of options. There was a point when he first met Keith that Lance got a little (lot) jealous over the way everyone fawned over him. He was popular and cool, the person everyone wanted to be friends with. And Keith didn’t even have to try.

You see, Keith’s the type that’s charismatic without meaning to be. You first meet him and he comes off kinda standoffish, maybe a little intimidating, but then you figure out he’s actually this awkward and reckless goofball with a lopsided smile. The juxtaposition of both extremes is conveniently lovable.

Keith just kinda grows on you, y’know? That type. People _like_ him. The outliers are the few who don’t.

But Keith? What was _his_ type? Lance never figured that bit out.

And Keith's been a fixture in their group for eight years but never once did he bring a date to a single party, concert, or game night. The guy never had big, romantic plans for anything. No one, not even on the big couple’s occasions like New Years. He’d once invited Lance to go see a movie on Valentine’s day, as if _Lance_ didn’t have a whole special night planned for the new girl he was seeing. Sheesh.

So, to hear Keith was steadily making the rounds through their collective social circle all those years totally caught Lance off guard.

Not that Lance was invested, or had any grounds to hold any sort of opinion on the matter either way, but it kinda-sorta shook Lance’s entire little world, OK?

‘Cause Lance didn’t even _get it_. Lance _liked_ dating. He liked being in relationships. He liked the whole song and dance of it, all the nice dinners and all the getting dressed up. He liked getting to know someone new... or someone old in a whole new context. Y’know, whichever. Point is, Lance liked all the hand-holding, kissing, and just having someone to come home to. 

Apparently, Keith just liked sex.

And for a while Lance didn’t get why the knowledge bothered him.

Or, maybe.

_Interested_ him.

He wasn’t sure.

So, he’d shoved it to the back of his mind easily enough. After Keith left to spend the summer abroad it wasn’t hard to let it go anyway. And he’d let it go because he was Keith’s friend, but a friend Keith wasn’t interested in, and well obviously that was fine too. Maybe that simply meant they were _too_ good of friends to complicate things. A win for Lance!

Or something to that effect. What difference did it make? Lance shrugged it off and convinced himself he didn’t care. 

Only now he’s here he’s thinkin’ ‘bout all that nonsense again, with his forehead pressed against the passenger-side window of Keith’s beat-up old ‘97 Chevy Camero. Keith’s next to him, murmuring lyrics along with the low sound of whatever alt-rock station he’s got playing on the radio. 

Guess, sometimes it’s hard to keep letting go completely. A little, maybe.

_Keith sleeps with his friends_.

The words are constantly floating somewhere in the back of his head.

Lance sighs, too hazy to think much harder about it. He’s pleasantly lulled in that soft, pollowy space between awake and asleep, a little buzzed over the plate of lime Jell-O shots he’d split with Pidge to celebrate her admission to grad school. Maybe he doesn’t really need to care where his mind goes.

He’s just lost in the memories because the group hadn’t hung out like that since… well, since not too long after that dinner of cheese fries after graduation. It’d been longer still since he’d last seen Keith, and more than two years since Keith had last offered to drive him home from a party. 

So it’s not that Lance wants to start this again, not indulging the quiet curiosity of getting Keith into bed. He doesn’t wanna drown himself in the what-ifs. No, not that again.

He’s past that. 

One hundred percent.

Never even a thing, honestly.

In fact, he’s so positive the whole _Keith gets some_ internal crisis he’d suffered a couple years earlier is so over that he misses the familiar twists and turns of his apartment building and barely registers the car pulling to a stop, startling as Keith’s hand jostles his knee. 

“Holy heck. I’m up, I’m up.” Lance rubs a hand over his face, cringing at his own reaction. “No need to get all pushy.”

Keith laughs, his voice humored, “Still a lightweight, huh?”

“You’re one to talk, Mr. _I got so wasted I fell asleep in the Holt’s flower bed_ ,” Lance snips, batting Keith’s hand away. 

“Lance, that was five years ago.”

“Still happened, man.” 

“Whatever.”

Lance sighs and rubs a hand over his face, letting himself slip one notch further into all the nostalgia that comes with warm early summer nights like this one. Nights like this remind him of driving around town with nowhere to go, getting into trouble, and always feeling like the best was yet to come. 

Time passes differently once you’ve grown up.

He stretches out, leans back in the cracked leather seat. “I missed this.”

“You missed passing out in my car?”

“No,” Lance huffs. “I missed hanging out. I missed being with the group. I missed—”

_You._

He doesn’t say it. He barely stops himself. “I think I just missed getting to feel young and stupid, y’know. Like the good ol’ days.”

“Lance, you’re twenty-seven.”

“Old,” Lance insists and Keith rolls his eyes. “I know, I know. You’re turning thirty this year, but you already got that ruggedly handsome thing going. You’ll age perfectly fine. Great, even. Like Sean Connery. But alas, my youthful glow was all I had going for me. One day I’ll still be useless... but no longer pretty.”

“That’s not true, Lance. You’ve got lots of time to be stupid.”

Lance gives him a flat look. “Thanks.” 

Keith’s smile softens. “I’m serious, though. There’s nothing to worry about. You’ve got plenty of time left.”

Lance waves him off, trying to ignore how the soft tinge of sincerity in Keith’s voice, all triggered by his own dumb overdramatics. He should’a known Keith wouldn't get the reference anyway. “It’s fine. I’m just sayin’ adulting is hard. ‘M not ready to grow up yet.”

“Yeah,” Keith concedes with a soft laugh. “I gotcha.”

“Life sucks.” Lance sighs, glancing at his phone. Half past 1:00 AM, two drunk texts from Hunk, and an ambiguous (perhaps ominous) thumbs up from Pidge. 

He takes another deep breath, notices Keith humming quietly along with the radio again, and all he can think is that he doesn't wanna say goodbye. Which is super dumb because Keith’s new townhome is only, like, thirty minutes away. He’s not off with his mom in Luzon anymore. He’s here. He’s back. He and Lance can hang out whenever they want now… 

But Keith’s busy. A lot. He’s always been driven like that.

Finding the time to meet up is hard, has been all along. For some reason their plans have this history of getting thwarted when they make them. At least, plans with just the two of them. Times when Keith invites him out, something comes up, and Keith just goes radio silent afterward. Makes it so hard! 

And they’re friends and all, but—

“So I, uh…” Lance starts and then clears his throat. An idea is forming in the back of his mind, somewhere where all his Very Bad ideas come from, and a little shiver runs up his spine because he knows what he’s actually playing at... but he also can’t stop himself. “You, uh, wanna come up for a little while? Catch up for a bit? Hunk’s spending the night at Shay’s. Got the place to ourselves.”

There, he said it. It’s fine. Keith used to hang with him and Pidge playing video games all the time. There’s totally nothing weird about this. If Keith says no, Lance can play it off, no problemo. They’re cool. They’re fine.

When Keith doesn’t immediately answer, Lance catches him frowning at the steering wheel, furrowing his brow. He’s thinking. Weighing his options. The hesitation doesn’t worry Lance too much.

‘Cause he can’t possibly know what Lance is actually asking. Right?

“I mean, I, uh…” Keith’s eyes dart to the clock on his dashboard. “It’s kinda late. I should probably get going”

Not exactly a no. He’s being polite. Lance can tell by his tone. Keith’s always been afraid of stepping on people’s toes. He doesn’t always know when invitations are sincere or someone else being polite by offering to include him when they don’t really mean it. 

Lance can clear this up real quick. 

He swallows, takes the plunge. “Just crash here tonight.”

Another pause. 

Keith glances up at him, brows knit like he’s trying to work his way around the aeronautics formulas they used to hound Hunk to help them solve. Cute. “You sure?”

Lance smiles, feels like he’s agreeing to more than they’re saying, but that’s dumb. This is no biggie. They’re just gonna chill together, OK. “Wouldn’t have offered if I wasn’t.”

“Oh,” Keith says, as though this is some earth shattering revelation and not simple common sense. “Cool.” 

Lance’s heart speeds up when Keith turns off the engine. Oh. Yeah. It’s happening.

“Cool.”

Yeah.

Okay. 

Cool.

Keith’s gonna spend the night.

Lance has to keep reminding himself to calm the heck down down, chattering mindlessly — rambling like an idiot — as they make their way up the stairs to Lance’s apartment door. He chalks it up to his lingering buzz, but that’s a lie. He’s one hundred percent level-headed. He just. Needs to calm down.

‘Cause this doesn’t mean anything is gonna happen. If Keith ever had an interest in hooking up with him, he’d probably have already done it ages ago. They’ve known each other ever since he tagged along with Shiro to Matt’s twenty-first birthday party. And that was, like, eight years ago now. More than enough time to make a move.

So. Nothing’s gonna happen. Nada.

They’ll watch a movie together, maybe play some Mario Kart, and then Keith’s just gonna crash on the couch.

Probably.

Like, Lance is 80/20 on how this’ll go down.

But! 

That’s a twenty percent chance Keith is maybe, possibly down to fuck.

And! 

That means there’s some things Lance has gotta figure out real quick to make this work with minimal collateral damage.

He’s gotta hatch a plan, strategize a little, make some calculations to maximize effectiveness.

What does Keith propositioning someone even look like? Does he make the first move or does he wait for the other person to take that leap? Does he have a type? Has he ever even considered Lance?

There’s a certain thrill to the mystery of it all and it’s got Lance buzzing. If he’s gonna potentially torch their friendship to find out, well, best to go all in. 

He’ll test the waters first, feel it out slowly. He’ll give Keith a chance to catch on and do whatever it is he does when he’s feelin’ it. If it doesn’t work, then it doesn’t work. No harm done.

He’s got this all under control. 

One hundred percent that simple.

So, they small-talk their way into Lance’s apartment and Lance wills himself to think of this as normal, just any other night they’re hanging out. Keith’s excitedly going on about the motorbike Shiro’s helping him fix up and how he’s psyched to try the new coffee shop that’s only a couple blocks from his new place. 

Lance is listening, because Keith’s super easy to listen to when he’s happy, but he’s also getting a little distracted by how locks of loose hair are falling from his ponytail and gathering around his face. That effortless attractiveness thing again. Keith doesn’t even try!

As he talks, Lance understands tenfold why he’s got so many (apparent) hook-up options. Keith’s just… so _Keith_.

And there was a time in his life when Lance thought he wanted to sleep around. He thought that was, like, the ultimate mark of coolness. He wanted to have all the hot babes, like James Bond or something, which is pretty laughable now, but it’s easy to think like that when no one’s biting what you’re putting out. 

He’d had one ill-fated attempt at a one-night-stand at his very first college party, but ten minutes into their backseat makeout session, she’d thrown up all over the leather seats (of what was conveniently _not_ Lance’s car) and Shiro had to drive them both back to their dorms of what became the longest, most awkward drive of Lance’s life. So, uh, not his finest moment.

Point is, Lance learned pretty early on that sleeping around wasn’t necessarily his thing. Lance may be a catch but you gotta do some heavy-lifting to get in with that, y’know. The one time, self-proclaimed Loverboy Lance is no more. 

Which is totally fine, but now he’s stuck kinda confused about how casual hookups even work. Like, it’s one thing on a dating app, where all parties involved know that’s what’s on the table from the get-go, but how do you approach something like this with someone you’ve known for years without crossing some sort of arbitrary boundary?

And maybe Keith’s easy and Lance doesn’t need to worry.

So all of his doubts kinda fall to the wayside because Keith’s easy to be with. Lance busies himself brewing some quick coffee in his french press, gives it to Keith and makes himself a glass of water to wash out the last of the alcohol lingering in his head. 

The easiest way to go about this is to go out and say it. He can just go right out and ask Keith if he wants to mess around. People do that, right?

He settles on the couch, flipping through the cable channels, rehearsing what he might say as Keith excuses himself to the bathroom. 

Boring.

A few minutes later Keith pokes his head out the door, calls out, “Hey, can I brush my teeth?”

Lance drops his head back on the couch, glances at Keith a little sideways. “Go for it. The blue one’s mine. An’ feel free to use the shower while you’re at it. You smell like motor oil.”

And yeah, maybe if neither of ‘em have any qualms about sharing a toothbrush there’s nothing to worry about. He listens as the water switches on in the bathroom and lets himself admit how badly he actually wants to be with Keith. So, no, he’s never been over it. He’s always had this affection.

_Keith sleeps with his friends._

Lance is his friend, right?

That was always the problem, after all.

He sighs, giving up on the TV he busies himself by washing his face in the kitchen sink and then meandering to his bedroom to change into pajamas. He turns on Netflix with his laptop, finds some dumb movie he’s not really interested in and places the laptop on the foot of the bed. He listens to the water running on the other side of the wall, paying little attention to what’s playing. 

Boring. Again.

When Keith wanders into his bedroom, looking a little lost, he’s got a towel thrown over his wet hair and he’s dripping onto his shoulders. He’s wearing the same black T-Shirt emblazoned with the Alamo Drafthouse logo that he’d been wearing earlier, along a pair of Lance’s gray joggers (which he certainly had not been wearing earlier), presumably swiped from the basket of freshly cleaned laundry sitting on top of the dryer. 

The whole ensemble holds Lance’s attention several seconds longer than necessary. 

Yes, tonight is the night. He’s already managed to get Keith into his bedroom, and he barely had to try. Perfect!

Lance grins, kicks his legs and pats the space next to him, waggling his eyebrows. (Unfortunately, Lance does this all the time and his friends have long since stopped seeing it as suggestive and, haha, Lance is screwed, isn’t he?) Keith just kinda settles down next to him on the bed, like this is something they do all the time. 

Innuendo is out the window.

He’s gotta be more straightforward.

Only! Conversation has now dried up. 

He reaches over, turns off the lamp beside the bed so the room is backlit by the streetlight outside. Romantic! Good job.

Mentally checking through his bag of tricks, Lance pulls out the real, old winner. He stretches his arm out, slides it over the back of the pillows piled behind Keith’s shoulders. Done, and done! 

Keith’s damp hair brushes along his forearm, tickles a little, but makes little indication he’s even aware of what Lance has done. Lance takes a deep, cleansing breath. 

‘Kay.

Cool.

They sit like that for several minutes. Keith laughs at something on TV and leans back so his neck is pressed into Lance’s arm. So, like, Lance doesn’t _mean_ to flinch but he’s so surprised he can’t _not_ react. Keith raises his head like he’s giving Lance a chance to pull away, but Lance stays put.

“You're acting weird,” Keith says. The words are casual, spoken like he’s commenting on something benign. It’s an observation more than an accusation.

Lance sinks into his pillow, heat rising on his cheeks, and not daring to tear his gaze from the television screen. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Keith laughs softly, like he always does when he’s winning a game Lance doesn’t even know they’re playing. He leans into Lance’s shoulder, just a tiny, little move, but it gives Lance the courage he needs.

“Hey,” he starts, nudging Keith. “I’ve got an idea.”

“Famous last words,” Keith replies, playful. 

Then he slides the arm behind Keith’s head, around to his shoulder. Keith doesn’t reject the touch, lets Lance run his hand down the swell of his bicep, pulling him closer. He’s warm, real, and Lance can’t lose his nerve now. 

He turns his head, brushes his nose along Keith’s jaw, and shifts so he can dip his other hand around Keith’s waist. 

“You’ve got an idea, huh?” Keith’s voice is a low rumble, echoing in Lance’s chest with how close they’re pressed together.

Lance a tentative kiss right below Keith’s ear. “A really, really good idea.”

Keith hums, sinking a little closer into Lance’s hold. Lance moves the hand on Keith’s stomach up to his chest and back down around his hip. 

(This is working. It’s actually working.)

Lance drags his hand up over Keith’s thigh and he makes this quiet, breathy noise that shoots straight to Lance’s groin. Lance squeezes, works his way to Keith’s inner thigh where his legs are relaxing, letting Lance move him as he sees fit. “Best idea I’ve ever had, actually,” Lance adds.

“Sometimes,” Keith breathes, shaky, “You have very good ideas.”

Then he turns, stops Lance’s almost-not-quite necking by kissing him full on the lips. He starts slow, pressing into Lance’s mouth, running his tongue along his bottom lip. Then they’re moving forward.

And. 

Keith’s a fun kisser, hard and a little dirty, every bit as good as good as Lance hoped he’d be. He kisses deep, urgent and insistent, like he’s gotta throw it all in now before it’s too late. This is even better than Lance had hoped, much better than he’d dreamed, so he kisses back harder. He meets and challenges the way Keith comes full force, pushes and pulls him closer. 

Between the kissing he slips his hands under Keith’s shirt, drags them over Keith’s stomach and roughly hikes the fabric over his chest. He squeezes Keith’s pecs, rubs at his nipples, and good grief he’s practically been _obsessed_ with them for years and he can’t stop himself. 

They’re losing themselves a little, Keith’s hands on Lance’s back, sliding down his spine and urging Lance over him, one knee on either side of his hips. His tee shirt is tossed over his head. The old twin-sized mattress creaks beneath their weight, Lance mouthing against him — desperate — needing to be closer, warmer. 

Not close enough. Keith tangles a hand in Lance’s hair, pulls him closer, kisses him deeper and Lance is two hundred percent along for this ride. Keith’s other hand rubs over his backside and down the back of his right thigh, tugging his knee forward so he scoots up closer where he’s straddling Keith’s legs. 

Firm hands grip Lance’s hips, push him down and back so he’s grinding back against Keith’s groin. He’s hard, pressing up against Lance as insistent as he kisses and “ _Holy shit_ we’re really doing this.”

“C’mon Lance. Always heard you were a sure shot,” Keith teases. “What’s with the surprise?”

“You’ve heard nothing,” Lance huffs, balancing himself with his palms flat on Keith’s chest. “Your face is a sure shot.”

Keith smiles, shrugs, “Maybe.”

“You—”

He’s flipped over in the next second, Keith pressing him into the sheets, running his hands up Lance’s hips and hooking a finger into the waistband of his sweats. Lance lifts himself off the bed, helps Keith work his pants off his legs so he’s clad only in his boxers. 

Then Keith’s rolling them back over again and something crashes in Lance’s peripherals. “Hey, hey, hold up,” he gives a clumsy ‘time out’ gesture and Keith glares at him. “My laptop, geez. You’re so impatient.”

And Keith’s staring as Lance retrieves it from the floor, places it on his desktop, and then fishes out the tube of lubricant he keeps in the bottom drawer along with a condom. He climbs back above Keith and grins, tossing the lube and condoms on the sheets next to them. 

Keith’s brows pinch, a deep exhale. “You good?”

“Skipped dinner,” Lance shrugs. If he’s only gonna get one shot at this, he’s gonna just go for it. “Would probably be doin’ this tonight no matter if you were here or not, so yeah, ‘m good for it.”

Keith nods, a little awed maybe, and then his hands are back on Lance’s back, pulling him down for more kisses. Somewhere in the back of his mind Lance wonders if this is too much kissing to be a casual thing but he pushes the thought out, not willing to go down that road when he’s this horny and ready to get some.

The hand on his back slides down and slips into his boxers, insistent fingers running along the crease of his ass. “Yeah?” Keith asks, almost unsure, almost too soft. 

“Yeah,” Lance insists, tugging his boxers down and off his legs as Keith’s hands explore. 

In the sliver of dim light filtering through his window Lance catches the flush on Keith’s chest, pushing his shirt up and off his shoulders. His dark hair, curling at the ends as it dries, is strewn out over Lance’s pillow. Something warm and heavy takes root in the pit of Lance’s stomach, but he ignores it by leaning down to kiss Keith again.

As he does, Keith’s reaching to the side, grabbing the lube and pouring it into his palm. His middle finger slides over Lance, circling around his rim, while he reaches between them with his other hand, grabs Lance’s cock and squeezes. 

Lance pants, starts babbling as he rocks his hips against Keith’s touch, and gasps at Keith’s finger sinks all the way in. Lance twists, trying to rub Keith through his sweatpants as Keith slips a second finger inside, speeding up the pumping of his other hand.

Keith’s watching him, eyes lidded and lips parted, focused in full on every move Lance makes. “You— Feeling good?”

Lance nods, giving in and fucking himself on Keith’s hand — giving up on trying to stroke Keith from this angle. “Would be better,” Lance breathes. “If you took your dick out.”

Keith grunts, maneuvering Lance off him so he can slide his pants and boxer briefs down his thighs. His cock bobbing free and shining with pre over the swollen head. 

Lance settles his head into his pillow — now damp from Keith’s hair — and strokes himself while he watches Keith dig through the covers for the condom, finding it, and tearing into it with an impatient grunt. 

“Some time today, Keith,” Lance teases, moving his hand down to squeeze his balls, staring as Keith gives himself a few strokes, rolls the condom on, and slicks himself up.

“Geez. You’re so impatient,” Keith mocks, rolling Lance onto his side and lifting one leg. He pushes a finger back inside, twists it around and makes Lance keen. “Still good?”

“Ready for the main event, Keith, just get—”

Keith pulls his hand away and presses his cock against Lance’s hole, pushing in slow but insistent. He pauses once he’s fully inside and Lance sucks in a sharp breath, stretched just right so he can feel Keith breathing, panting, and an ever-slight trembling.

“Move,” Lance groans into his pillow, wiggling his hips as best he can with Keith still clutching one of his legs. “Please, move.”

With a heady moan, Keith does. His hips pick up speed, finding rhythm. It’s smooth at first, giving way to something less controlled, more clumsy, and unpredictable. Lance is in heaven, punching all these little half-aborted grunts and groans from Keith with every slight twist of his hips. 

“Faster,” Lance demands, breath shallow and shaking.

The harder Keith thrusts, the more control he loses. Lance is done caring, allowing himself to groan freely as Keith punches into him, body draping over where Lance is prone on his side. 

He drops Lance’s leg, shoves weakly at his hips until Lance rolls over onto his stomach. And he gets deeper fucking Lance from behind, his chest against the back of Lance’s shoudlers. 

He grips Lance’s cock, pumps him at an uneven pace, pants into his ear. Lance grips at his pillow and Keith’s other hand lands over his, intertwining their fingers, digging into the fabric with him. 

“Keith I’m—”

He gets a low hum in response, the sound vibrating across his back. 

Lance gasps, shakes with it. “I’m gonna—”

Keith strokes him faster, runs a thumb just beneath the head of his cock, and kisses the back of his neck, grazes his teeth there.

Lance comes, sputtering onto the sheets and Keith’s hand as he continues to rock his hips, pushing inside Lance as he rides it out. He can tell Keith’s not far off, the way his grunts and groans have grown into more desperate, higher-tinged, almost-whines.

“Lance—” Keith gives one final deep push, hips slowing and uncoordinated, as he rides out slower, shallow thrusts.

Keith pulls out and collapses next to Lance, both breathing heavy into the silence. Lance rolls himself over, willfully ignoring the wet spot on the sheets beneath them. They lay side-by-side with Keith’s hair strewn over Lance’s outstretched arm, until they’ve caught their breath.

Lance chances a glance in Keith’s direction, admires the rise and fall of his chest as it’s silhouetted in the dark. He swallows, voice a little raspy, “That was…”

“Nice,” Keith finishes. “Really nice.”

“Was gonna say _awesome_ but whatever.”

(Perfect. Lance was going to say. Perfect.)

Keith huffs a breathless, little laugh and Lance’s chest tightens at the airy sound. “Sorry. I meant mind blowing. Earth shattering. I’ll never be the same again. Nothing in life will ever be good again.”

“Cut it out,” Lance sulks. “I get it.”

Keith’s laughter dies down and he pats Lance’s hip. “Really, though. No complaints. Eleven out of ten.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. I got it.” Lance says, running a hand through his hair. As his pulse settles down, he starts to feel the chill from the ceiling fan and tugs his boxers back up over his hips. 

(He’s not actually torn up about it at all. Keith _clearly_ had a good time. Lance was there after all.)

But as the afterglow wears off Lance trains his gaze on the ceiling, not ready to look Keith in the eye for what he fears is a looming rejection. Maybe Keith sleeps with his friends, but Lance has no clue where it goes afterward. Do they just go back to being friends like before? Are they friends that have sex now? Do Keith’s partners overlap? Is he sleeping with anyone else right now? 

Lance didn’t think this part through.

Maybe this wasn’t his best plan, because he can’t. He can’t.

“So,” he decides to tackle the simple question first, determine if it’s a one-off or if this’ll be some sort of ongoing arrangement. They’ll start small. That’s fine. That’s doable. Lance clears his throat. “Is it a problem if I wanna do it again?”

“Like, _right now?_ ”

“What? No,” Lance runs a hand over his face, steeling his nerves. “I meant, y’know, in general. Like, maybe next weekend or something. After going to see a movie and grabbing dinner. But also, yeah, maybe in, like, twenty minutes or so too.” 

“Are you asking me out on a date?”

“Uh…” Oooh, OK. Lance didn’t actually mean to jump straight to _let’s date_ territory so fast. Haha, whoops. Too late now. He’s just gonna… roll with it. “Is it a problem if I am?”

Keith’s quiet long enough that Lance starts to panic for real. He frowns at the ceiling, “Well, because—” he starts talking before he’s done thinking up a way to turn the whole thing into a joke so they can pretend it never happened, “Because…” but shit. He’s got nothing! 

And Keith shifts so that he’s on his side and fully facing Lance, but Lance still can’t meet his eyes.

He asks, voice humored, “Why would it be a problem?”

“Because…” Lance trails off, trying to decipher Keith’s tone. He thinks he can feel Keith smiling where his cheek is squished against the crook of his arm, which is confusing, but at least Lance knows where this conversation is going. “You don’t _date._

“I don’t?”

“No!” Lance finally turns to look at Keith, and yeah he’s definitely smiling his particular brand of shit-eating grin, which seems odd, but Lance is heading into a downward spiral real quick. “You’ve never dated anyone. Ever! I know you, like, hookup and whatever and that’s totally cool, but y’know if dating isn’t your thing, and you only do the friends with benefits thing, I dunno if I can—”

Keith starts laughing. Like, full-on, full-bodied, loud _laughing_. Lance is offended. He pulls back, pushes at Keith’s chest and he finally quiets down. He’s smiling, but his expression is softer than before. Lance frowns at him.

Keith’s grin widens. “You know, I’ve asked you out before.”

Lance stops, pauses. Looks at Keith like he’s grown a second head, then furrows his brows in suspicion. “Excuse me. You what?”

Keith sits up on his elbows, still smiling but maybe a little incredulous too. “Your sophomore year, during rush week, I asked you to come play paintball with me at the rec center. You showed up with Allura.”

Uh.

Lance is incredulous. “Paintball, Keith! How was that a _date_?!”

“You love playing paintball,” Keith explains, which explains nothing at all, and then goes on. “That first homecoming game you were single again? I asked you to come hang out at my apartment the next night and watch a movie. You canceled an hour before because James invited you to a frat party and, I quote, _that hot guy from the coffee shop was gonna be there_.”

Lance averts his eyes again, this time in vague mortification. “OK, now listen. You _never_ said—”

“And,” Keith punctuates the word, raising a finger to get Lance’s attention. “Year after you graduated, I asked you to come with me to that big carnival we had — know you love all the games at those things — but apparently you’d met someone.”

“Keith.” Lance sits up and presses his fingers against his temple. “Why didn’t you ever tell me those were _dates_?!”

Keith narrows his eyes, for the first time sounding a touch defensive, “I thought it was implicit.”

“Oh my god,” Lance falls backward theatrically, arms thrown out on either side of the pillow in utter defeat. Keith is impossible — Impossible! “You can’t just invite someone to do the things you already do all the time without clarifying it’s a date, man. I had no idea! You have to lay the groundwork, do some flirting. You gotta give something to work with, dude. Context clues!”

“The context was I think you’re hot. Did I need to buy you flowers and write it out like a prom proposal?”

Lance sighs deeply and gives Keith a withering look, despite the light, gauzy feeling rising in his chest. “Keith. Why are you like this?”

“Hey,” Keith frowns down at him, the tilt of his lips shifting into a pout. “Why are _you_ like this? Not like you ever made a move. If you wanted something from me, you could’ve just said. I’m not always great at the whole romance thing.”

Yeah, no kidding.

Keith says the word _romance_ like it’s some complex mathematical equation he can’t decipher and is deeply frustrated over. 

Dammit, Keith.

“Hey, listen.” Lance pokes a finger toward his chest, dramatic and accusatory, so Keith understands how difficult he’s made this for him. Geez. “I made a pretty bold move tonight and I have you know that took _massive_ balls. Massive!”

Keith snorts and rolls his eyes.

For good measure, Lance repeats, “ _Massive_.” 

“Fine, Lance. You win,” Keith concedes. To prove how stupidly unbothered he is he rolls back up at Lance’s side.

Lance huffs, but pulls him closer. “Ok. Fine. That’s more like it.”

“Well, don’t get used to it,” Keith adds. “One time deal.”

They lay like that for several minutes and the knot in Lance’s stomach slowly unravels. Keith _likes_ him. That’s what all this means, right? 

“So. What now?” Lance asks, massaging the back of Keith’s neck. He lets his hand dip down his back, past his shoulder blades and back up again. “We did this kinda backward.”

“Hm?” Keith sounds tired, a little distracted, toying with the waistband of Lance’s boxers. “What’s backward?”

Lance motions to between their bodies where they’re sprawled out mostly naked on top of the sheets. “We skipped a bunch of steps. You don’t normally _start_ with sex, Keith”

Keith shifts, shrugging against Lance’s chest. “I do.”

And that gives Lance pause, even if it’s technically what started all this. It has him freezing the mindless meandering of his fingers across Keith’s back because there’s kinda a lot going unsaid there, and Lance has many questions, but maybe they can dig into it later.

“Well, it’s cool, y’know I’m—”

“I’m free,” Keith interrupts, landing a clumsy kiss on the side of Lance’s mouth. “To answer your question. Next weekend. We’ll do dinner and a movie.”

Maybe Lance never understood Keith’s thing. And maybe they’d always been a little more than friends. Maybe this was always meant to happen.

“It’s a date,” Lance says, as Keith climbs back over him.


End file.
